Marriage is a Prison
by The Vikings Succubus
Summary: She was a strong lady and fought for her life to live on her own terms. She ran to be free. Where did it lead...
1. If Marriage is a Prison then

Marriage. A synonym for prison if you ask me. My mother loved her station, her title, her trinkets. But she hated my father and he her. They never spoke unless at a party or a tea. They had separate wings of the house and only met to due matrimonial duty. Which means fuck to produce an heir. They were blessed, and I use the term losely, with three girls or like my father called us debt.

My older sister was married off after her first bleed at the age of 12 to a 40 year old land Baron in France. Caring not what would happen to her but the pretty penny she afforded my Father. She was beautiful. Long blonde ringlets tied with blue bows to match her eyes. She was quite small and slender from being sick as a child. She died in child birth the following year. Scared out of her ever loving mind on her wedding day. The man was a brute and very large. He was loud and boisterous at their wedding getting increasingly drunk and groaping my sister at the table. She ran to her room refusing to go screaming and crying. He followed picking her up over his shoulder and carrying her out to his carriage. My mother's advice was to pray for a boy while he lays with you.

My middle sister died of fever the year after. That left me. Lady Pamela Swynford De Beaufort Ravenscroft. After the deaths of my sisters my parents ignored me and I was left to be taught how to be a proper young lady and wife by the governess who was only 3 years older than me. And fucking my father. But back then who wasn't fucking someone. Me and I wanted to. Our estate was filled with mostly women to service the master and mistress of the house and old men with one foot in the grave. My governess suggested I be sent to Cheltenham Ladies College and of course through rounds of vigorous negotiations (fucking) Father complied.

Mother wasn't feeling well and took a sabbatical in Bath with her ladies maids. I guess she needed new pussy. For 2 long years I have watched these strangers who have comeplete control of my life fuck there way through staff and neighbors all the while preaching to me I needed to be pure and marry, I needed to be a proper lady who could draw, and paint, embroider and manage the estate of what ever man they can sell me off to at the highest price. Well fuck that. I was planning my escape and it couldn't come fast enough.

That evening I would meet my betrothed. Duke Richard Covington III. A 68 year old encephalitic pedophile paid a whopping 40,000 pounds and 1875 that was alot. Today $400. Really you can't get decent shoes for $400. So that evening after I was groaped and kissed by an ederly man with rotten teeth and smelled like 3 day old pig placenta I took my mothers jewelry and the silverware from the kitchen packed 2 dresses and made my way to the new world.

At 19 I had enough money left over to open my own business. I rented a room with a young woman I met on the train west and within a year we owned the house. The Mrs. wasn't happy I fucked her out of her marital bed and her house but the bay says thank you for the offering.

If those hippocritical bastards could sell me and not care then I could too. But with these girls I would care and teach them they are worth more than the money left on the dresser. I lived free of contolling costraints. I set the rules. I fucked who I wanted and they paid greatly for my talents. I chose how I lived and fought for that freedom.

But nothing lasts. My body wasn't as young anymore and even though I added new kinks to my repetiore I could not stop the ravages of time and the disease eating away at me. Such is the life of a whore. Not to mention my business was being threatened by oppurtunistic thugs to lazy to get there own knees dirty to make a living. Shaking me down for pussy or money and they weren't getting either. What they did get is a cold soak in the bay but you can't prove it was me.

Then some fucked up psychopaths reenact Jack the Ripper all throughout my place. I was almost ready to drink my tincture of laudanum and say fuck it all. The rashes were coming back and sores were appearing. My cough was bloody and the fevers were worse. I really didn't have long but fuck it if I didn't look damn good doing what I wanted on my way out.

Then like an angel he appeared licking blood off his fingers having saved me from a lazy fucking hood. He did it with his bare hands and all I could think about was maybe if I had that brute strength I could save my girls and die knowing I didn't sell them off to the highest bidder, to drift into the unknown without giving a flying fuck.

That fateful night ten years after I ran from the prison of marriage, of a life not of my choosing I changed my life again and I made the only choice that meant anything to me. He came back looking for my attentions but I wasn't for sale in my own brothel. A certain few could afford it but not while I'm having a flare up and the sores inside are starting to bleed.

While there those bastard crazy fucks struck again and killed a girl. He flew into the room brandishing fangs and menace. I wanted that, to strike that fear in another by mear presence. Just the mention of his name has them praying for death. I was in awe of his power and wished to be the same. I relented after. I needed this memory of being with death incarnate before mine was upon me. And dispite my disease ridden body he brought me to heights I could never imagine and If he saw fit to end me with his bite or fist then so be it. I had lived my life my way, and my girls were safe. It's all I had in the world but I made it and it was mine. I could say goodbye knowing I lived for me.

So when he was ready to depart I wanted him, this moment to be the last of my conscience thought. I reached for my jewled dagger I wore in my thigh holster and let the blade slide through my skin spilling my life to dusty floorboards. The pain was exquisite knowing that even in this moment I am in control. A sudden snarling growl interrupts deaths intimacy.

"You wish this. To die. Here. Now."

"I am already dead, but I have lived for me. Free."

"You wish the end then. Is this all you can do with life."

"Bastard. It is everything of me, mine."

"Could you wake tommorow what is it you would do."

"You taunt an old whore who wishes to die dignified. At her own hand."

"The only dignity in death is fighting to die another day. If you give up you should not have been."

"I have fought and won. My body is of no use anymore and soon my mind will go. I will see my end my way."

"Again I ask you. If you rose another day after this farce you call a dignified death, what is it you would do. Would you spread your legs and lips for the next vermin with enough cash. Spend said hard rode money on new dresses, more rouge, tincures of laudanam to soften the rutting filth pounding away at your used up cankcerous gash. What. Would. You. Do."

In tears as he described her life to minute detail she thought deeply. Looking down at the stain her life was making on the new silk robe she had bought after spending an evening entertaining the mayor and his cabinet. They had tore her good that night. She was not yet ready when he took her and he didn't care. No one did. No one asked what she would do as if she a choice. She did. She had a choice and made it . She ran away from servitude and sychophancy. She ran to fucking to eat. Letting men do unspeakable things to her. Wanting her to do vile things to them. Selling young girls barely dressed to do the same. It needed to be done to live free. Now what. Used, broken, dying. What would she do?

"Live. With all the piss and vinegar in my veins, with all the cold and heartlessness I could possibly possess. Live."

It wasn't a marriage but I was provided for, loved. I love my station. I love my title. I love my trinkets. And I love my Maker.


	2. Love is the Key to

**So sorry new story. My muses are right dirty cunts and took a shit on the Bar. But I wrestled this away by distracting them with something Swedish. Okay um not mine and all that disclaimer bullshit. Warnings violence, language, abuse, rape and everything Saturday morning cartoons contain if Pam wrote them. Love you all and thank you for reading. 4padfoot is my hero!**

Pam raised her eyebrow at the site before her. In his office chair, that she bought for him, pintucked Italian leather in a deep brown, her maker sat re-reading the letter his FIANCE left him befor she poofed her fairy gash away from him.

Pam had been made vampire at the turn of the century. Living a life of privledge her family afforded her in England, she never wanted for anything. Jewelry, finest fashions of the time in the most luxurious fabrics. Invitations to royal balls and soires. Everything a young Lady could want . Everything except freedom of choice, of life.

She was sold to a man forty years her senior who had went through two wives already, for $400. The night before her wedding she stole the family savings and took all the silverware and ran. She sold the silverware and bought a ticket on a boat to the new world. It was the most grueling experience of her life.

Meeting Miriam on the train helped cushion the rough ride, pun intended, and together they formalised their plan when they reached the city. By the time she arrived in San Francisco she was down to the dress oh her back, the silver serving ware and her mothers engagement and wedding rings.

Hawking rings she rented a room in with Mariam in a young couples home to set up shop. Ousting the harpy was easy as was the lure to her business without raising to many eyebrows. She advertised lessons in proper English dressing for men. And she made use of the rooms for proper fucking these men out of their money. With time her business grew until her stable was full.

Bad times hit when her girls were being butchered by psychos. Miriam the first to go. That's when she met him, her savior, her maker. He swaggered in and captivated her. She was in awe of his confidence, his fierceness, his darkness. She didn't want him, she wanted to be him. He drove the killers away and found her worthy of a new life. A life she was made for.

So to see her Maker reading a letter from his supposed fiance over and over for the last month was insufferable. How could he succomb to such lowliness of servitude. You are not yours alone anymore. Granted she belongs to him as his childe but she chose it and she was free of human constraints and judgements.

Why he would agree to such unworthy human rituals is beyond her. The gash is sweet smelling, the best she ever smelled, but not worth my Masters time. He called me to him for this blessed event. Imagine my shock at receiving a summons from The King of Louisianna to return to his side for his pledging to his bonded.

My Master and I fucked our way through this world and never had I seen him choose one worthy of his blood or time. We seperated 50 years ago and kept in contact while I made my way in the world. Never once did he mention or did I feel that he was attached.

Gag me with a zombies severed leg. So I arrive not long after sunset to find my Maker in his private office sniffing and reading a 'Dear John' letter from his former bonded fiance, whom I will be draining and dismembering shortly, without so much as a raised eyebrow in my direction acknowledging my presence.

" Master." I speek respectfully and kneel. Nothing.

"My liege. My Master. I present myself to you as your loyal child and servant." Fuck I hate that one.

Not. One .

" What the fuck Eric? Snap out of it. The gash is gone, get a donor or three." And that does it.

I'm suspended in the air, my neck and life held in his crushing grip, terrified by the look in his eye. I 've seen that look turned to others. He will dance on their bones and enjoy the crushing music. He just might kill me.

"Eric please it's Pam." I gurgle out as my esophagus liquifies.

"You dare insult my QUEEN. I will crush you and drink your remains." He hissed at me. What the fuck is going on. He doesnt recognize me.

" Eric please." I whimper.

" I will have no other but my bonded, my queen. You will do well to remember this."

I'm tossed aside ,literally, while he slumps in his chair picking up the letter again. Well I will try a different approach and think of removing her toes one by one with a spoon. I stand and tilt my head submissively and speak quietly.

"Master. May I please be dispatched to find My Queen. I am better than any tracker and will go to the ends of the earth to find her. No dimension wll be left unsearched." Now that fucking hurt but I need to find the bitch and snap Eric out of this.

" She cannot be reached. Her family has taken her and will not approve of our pledgeing. They search for ways to severe our bond. She has a plan of escape for two nights from now. She is in pain Pam and needs me." Eric growls out in barely concealed rage. Well that's a fine fucked up bitch of a mess.

"Master I mean no disrespect but the letter states she has changed her mind." It actually states he can fuck himself with his makers dead dick she wants nothing to do with his bloodsucking leach of an ass. And I want to kill her again.

"She has written in code to me. Underneath the ink she has written her true message in her blood. She would never speak ill of Godric. She saved his life."

What the fuck now? She saved Godric! The Authority demanded his death for surrendering to the Fellowship in an act of faith which resulted in a bloodbath of epic proportions. Stan, a vampire in his retinue went off the deepend and stormed the church slaughtering the humans. Godric was held responsible, removed from his post as Sheriff, and sentenced to death.

"Grandsire is dead." Or so I thought and mourned but tell anyone and I'll gut you with a rusty spoon.

" No my child he lives. She staged his death to appease the Authority and sent him to live with her Gran in an ante demension of Fea. We were about to storm the Authority when her fairy godmother snatched from the compound gates. Our contingent retreated without detection but Sookie has been missing for several months now." Well there goes my lady boner. A fucking fairy. My master finds, falls in love with and bonds to a fairy who saved our beloved grandsire and planned the deaths of those who threatened him. Yeah full on femalerection.

"Sign me up Eric. Let's find these fairy fuckers and drain the lot. Let's get your woman back." Eric mirthlessly chuckles at my about face. What, gotta love pragmatism, and a promise of a great battle.

" Come let us prepare. We are to meet at 50 miles north of here in the small town of Bon Temps. My retinue is there already." He stands to his impressive hieght but falters some. As I take in his features I see Eric is quite gaunt and pale. He walks with heavy painful steps to the door to the armoury in his office. He winces as he struggles to push open the heavy steel door that's several inches thick and bends, groaning, to lift his sword from it's display stand.

" Master have you fed?" He rears back with force to make a grab for me but misses and stumbles into his desk.

" Please Eric. Take my blood. You need to be full strength to fight." And naturally like a man he refuses heading out to the common area of his estate. I grip his arm and pull him to me.

" Please Eric. For her." I beg. I take his sword and place it on a nearby table. He embrasses me and licks my neck. I hold him close to me and can't help the moan that leaves our lips as his fangs push in. It's a very emotional experience when a child and maker feed from one another.

Their bond is blown open like the first rising. They grip eachother tighter as Eric feels his strength returning slowly. Pam is trying to keep her lust down but to be in her makers arms and comforting him is to much. She grabs handfuls of his hair and throws her leg over his hip making her skirt rise and moans out her release to echo in the large foyer.

Just then a shimmering gold ring appears tearing open a window behind them. Screaming is heard and Eric whips his head around to stare into the eyes of his bonded, strapped to a table naked being whipped. Her beatiful tanned skin is ripped to ribbons beneath the blows of the cat o' nine tails. The man holding the whip screaming at her and pointing towards Eric and Pam.

" This is your chosen, your bonded. Your bed not yet cold and he has another there to warm it. This vile creature of the night you wish to give your innocence to. I think not great grandaughter. You will be healed and when your punishment ends then you will be joined with the betrothed I have chosen for you. Once this poison is bled out of your system you will do as your told as you will no longer be under the hold of that monster. In two nights time bloodsucker she will join with her Fea husband even if I have to hold her down to do it." With that he picked up a thin metal bar and skewered Sookie between her ribs till there was one inbetween each of her ribs. The light faded and Eric fell to his knees in agony.

Pam stared in disbelief. Eric hadn't fucked her yet. Must be love. She's beautiful even covered in her own blood, body torn to ribbons. Mmmm I 'd fuck her stupid. And what the fuck is it with families and controlling their kin to that extent. Her own family to rip her apart that way. When we get her back they could share stories. Looking at Eric crumpled on the floor her mind went to battle mode.

Two months of torture, no. They started with playing the heroes. Saving her from becoming the vampire's blood whore. That doesn't work they shower her with gifts and family time showing her how wonderful they are and how happy they are she has returned to them. Banquets in her honor, stringing her along with promises of her return to Eric soon. Just one more festival, one more party, one more dance. Till impatience sets in and they declare he has moved on forging notes of broken egagements. Yes Pam can see it all unfold as she helps Eric into a chair. Pushing Fea men at her to woo her but nothing worked. So plan D. Either kill Eric, but then they can insure she will never comply and will meet the true death at first chance or break her. And I see it's not working.

" You should not have forced me to feed from you. She will not come home to me now. If I could stand I would end your wretched life you diseased ridden whore. I should command you to meet the true death for this betrayal worthless infected cunt. I never should have turned you." Eric growled out through ragged breaths while the pain ravaged his body.

It would hurt, the things he's saying, but I'm not made that way. And after he made me I only got better. I'm a mean and sadistic bitch that has filled more than the devils quota for souls. Wether they were stabbed in a dark alley in London, dumped off the boat across the pond, tossed from a transcontinental train or dumped in the bay and that was before I was turned.

The only thing I choose to feel now are my fangs sinking into that fairy fuck torturing my Queen. My nipples are hard thinking of the battle to ensue.

"Bitch I'm talking to you, worthless dirty cunt, I have lost her because of you."

He roars at me. Oh so they've stopped Pinning, and not in a good way I love Pinterest, and his strength is returning.

"Blah, Blah, canckerous whore Blah. Do you truly believe she will not return to you after seeing us together. If she lasted this long being tortured by those fairy fucks I think she will fight to come back just to annihilate both of us herself. Now get off your lazy Viking ass and let's plan the homecoming battle."

Eric vamps to my side, sword slung on his back, murderous glare that has made people have heart attacks, standing in all his glory ready to kill. Ready to get his woman back.

" Fuck I love the smell anticipated killing in the evening." Eric grins at me feeling my giddiness then launches into the night.

"First one there gets to skull fuck a fairy." He yells back at me while he flies off. Fucking asshole maker knows I can't fly. But I sure can ride. I slip out of my skirt and pull a pair of leather pants out of my trunk. I change into my skull crushing boots and head to his garage. There she is. His pride and joy, a Ducati Diavel. We are out on the road in seconds headed to Bon Temps. Good Times is right. Death is coming.


End file.
